


Please (Don't Leave Me)

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Series: The Sum of Our Parts [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Chameleon Arch, DEAL WITH IT, M/M, The Inseparables - Freeform, and D'Artagnan, anyway, hahahaha this ending is so slapdash whoops, plus a little cameo of greg lestrade just for you, this is for you Kyele even though it's no where near as good as that thing that you wrote me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All of time and space, my dear. Where would you like to go?”</p><p>A pause. “Take me to the future, Armand.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please (Don't Leave Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyele/gifts).



 

A breath.

 

The End.

 

They touched, and there were sparks. A storm. He couldn’t breathe, and Treville was looking at him like he was all the best in the world. “Armand,”

 

He never did bother to correct him. “ _No_.” And it sounded broken, like the TARDIS’s Chameleon Circuit, like his soul, like his _hearts_.  “Not you.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” He choked, and then the light grew brighter, blinding.

 

He couldn’t see him. He couldn’t--- He couldn’t--- “Jean---”

 

~~~

Stop. Rewind.

~~~

 

“All of time and space, my dear. Where would you like to go?”

 

A pause. “Take me to the future, Armand.”

 

“Alright.” He smiled. “How does Paris, 2015 sound? Still a few years away from the Free-Love Renaissance, but---”

 

He made a choking noise. “You don’t mean---”  
  


“What, that men like us are accepted by society? Please, Treville, I have even less faith in humanity than you do, but even they don’t take much more than four hundred years.”

 

“You’re lying---”

 

“Want to bet?” He grinned.

 

“I hardly even believe that this so-called time machine works, Armand, you must forgive me if I don’t automatically believe that the church just gives up all of its power.” He snapped.

 

“Well, then,” he prodded at the console.

WHIRRR. WHIRRR.

“Why don’t you take a look out the door?”

 

Treville opened the door tentatively, as if unsure whether or not he would be met with the sight of some empty room in the Louvre. “You know,” he said, wide-eyed and not even bothering to look at him. “I really should’ve believed them when my musketeers called you a witch.”

 

“Not a witch,” he corrected, “Time Lord.”

 

Treville said nothing, just walked, entranced out the door. “What the hell is that!” He shouted “This is not Paris.”  
  


“That’s the Eiffel Tower, darling.” He chuckled. “And we’re definitely in Paris.” He paused. “Is it too much? Too soon?”

 

“What? No.” He turned back to him. “It’s---perfect, Armand. Strange, but perfect.”

 

~~

 

They kissed, cotton-candy sweet from Coney Island, 1915. “Armand,” Treville murmured, once they broke apart. “I can’t stay with you forever.”

 

“Why not?”   
  


He laughed. “Why not? I’ve got my musketeers, Armand. I’ve left them long enough already.”

 

“Time Machine,” He muttered petulantly.

 

“Louis is probably missing you, too.”

 

“Louis can get on without me,” he scoffed.

 

“You mean the world to him,” He protested. “France would fall without you, Armand.”

 

 _The Man Who Makes It All Better_. “I suppose,” he sighed, “that we can go visit your pet musketeers for a while.”

 

~~~

No one had seen Treville or the Cardinal in a week. No one. And yet suddenly Athos could see them staring out onto the musketeer barracks. “Here.” The Red Cardinal gestured to the Captain. “As you can see, they are doing quite well without you.”

 

Athos ignored him, addressing the captain immediately. “You’re back.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“That depends,” He said slowly. “How long was I gone?”

 

“A week.”

 

He had been gone for three weeks. “Exactly. A week. Surely I can leave for a week without the regiment falling to pieces.

 

“You disappeared without a word.”

 

“Well, this is me telling you.” He frowned. “Now, Athos, I have things to do.”

 

~~

 

“Wait, so the Captain’s back?”

 

“Yes, the Captain’s back.” Athos said.

 

“But I don’t understand,” D’Artagnan frowned. “Why’d he just disappear in the middle of the night? Why didn’t he say anything?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I don’t like this, Athos.”

 

“No,” He looked out onto the training field. “Neither do I.”

 

~~

 

“Run away with me.”

Richelieu’s voice obviously did not make Treville jump. “Where did you come from? Armand, this isn’t  one of your future places, if they find out---”

 

“They suspect nothing, darling.” He rolled his eyes. “I hardly doubt they have the mental capacities for that.”

 

“The Musketeers are smarter than you give them credit for.”

 

“Semantics,” He shrugged. “They’re still absurdly loyal to you. And I came to visit you often enough, didn’t I? We work together, you and I.”

 

“Richelieu---”

 

“Run away with me, Treville.” He said, “I don’t like it here.”

 

 _You belong here,_ Treville didn’t say.“We’ve only been back for a few days.” He toyed with something in his pocket.

 

“And I already had to deal with Louis’s impertinent whining.” He grimaced. “I’d rather not deal with any more of that than I have to.”

 

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Friday. We’ll leave on Friday.”

 

“Alright.”

 

~~~

 

“What do you mean, you’re leaving again? You just got back!”

 

“It’ll be for a few days at most.” He said. “But just in case, I’m leaving Athos in charge.”

 

“Captain, where are you going?” Aramis asked quietly.

 

“It’s personal business.”

 

“You can’t just leave the Musketeers every week---” Porthos protested.

 

“It’s not every week.” He glared.

 

“Of course, Captain.” Athos said. “We’ll look after the regiment for you.”

~~

 

“Brasseur, the captain says to look after the regiment for a few days.”

 

~~~

 

“I can’t believe we’re sneaking after the Captain,” D’Artagnan protested.

 

“Well we won’t be for long, if you keep talking,” Porthos grumbled.

 

“We’re only looking after his best interests,” Aramis said.

 

Treville tied his horse up to a tree barely a block away from the barracks. “What’s he doing,” Porthos squinted. They crept after him, and watched as he stepped into a box that was a frankly garish shade of blue, still visible even at this time of night.

 

“I didn’t even know there was paint in that color,” D’Artagnan said. “Freshly painted, too.”

 

“Strange little box,” Athos muttered.

 

They waited a few minutes. Eventually there was a curse, and Treville walked out of it, muttering how he’d forgotten something. They crept towards the door, peering inside of it.

 

“I didn’t think a box could be that big,” D’Artagnan’s eyes went wide.

 

“No,” Aramis agreed. “I don’t think any of us could.”

 

~~~

 

“Where to now, Armand?”

 

“I haven’t taken you to any other planets,” he said. “How would you feel about that.”

 

Treville tensed visibly. “No.” He said. “Not yet, Armand. Even the places you take me now---They’re almost too strange for me to bear.”

 

“Alright.” He swallowed, and tried not to feel like he was constantly pretending to be a different man, a deadman.

  
He wasn’t Armand-Jean du Plessis. He was not the Cardinal de Richelieu. But he was, in a way. A part of him was. And that part of him loved Treville more than anything. And he supposed he owed him an adventure, he supposed that if anyone deserved an adventure, it would be him.

 

“Let’s go to London, then."

 

~~~

 

They crept out the door only a few moments after Richelieu and Treville left. And then they were left gaping, slack-jawed in amazement, as they stared at what should have been an empty Parisian street in the middle of the night.

 

"What sorcery is this," Aramis mumbled.

 

There were horseless carriages, brighter clothing than Athos had seen on anyone other than the queen, and— dear god, was that a woman in pants? Not only that, but here it was midday.

 

"Brings a new meaning to when we say the Cardinal's a witch," D'Artagnan said.

 

Athos was the first to regain his wits. "Alright. Our main objective is to find the captain, and bring him back to Paris." In any way necessary. They all nodded gravely.

 

So, naturally, it was only a matter of minutes before they were distracted.

 

~~

 

There were spikes. Spikes on leather and Porthos wasn't quite sure why he thought that was attractive, but it was.

 

"First time?" The shop boy popped his gum loudly, all dyed silver hair and piercings and leather jacket. He looked him over warily. "You coming from a Ren-fest, or summat?"

 

"Uh," he said. "Sure."

 

"Cool, cool." He shrugged. “Name’s Greg, Greg Lestrade. You?”

 

“Porthos.”  
  


“What, no last name?”

 

“Nah.”

 

“Cool.”

 

~~~

 

“Athos, look at this!” D’Artagnan tugged on his sleeve.

 

“What?”

 

The building boasted a sign that said _Dave’s Electronics_. And inside---there were pictures. In boxes. Pictures that moved.

 

They went inside. “I don’t suppose this place takes silver,” D’Artagnan muttered.

 

“No,” Athos examined the strange boxes. “I doubt they would.” He prodded one of the buttons; the image changed.

 

“ _Today we have with us the sensation that’s sweeping the Nations, the Beatles!”_ A cheery female voice announced from the box.

 

“They have people in there?” D’Artagnan mumbled in amazement

 

“Somehow,” He muttered. Then, in a louder voice, he addressed the box. “Madame, are you alright---”

 

But she continued on, unhindered. “ _Tell me, what will you be singing for us tonight?”_

 

The box moved on to show a group of men, carrying what appeared to be musical instruments? One, at least, had strings and looked something roughly like a violin, though it had no bow.   _“It’s called Love Me Do.”_

And then the music began to start up. It wasn’t like anything Athos had ever heard before. The pleasant movements of violins and orchestras were changed out with inane poetry and a jolly tune.

 

Athos didn’t know what to think. D’Artagnan adored it.

~~~

 

Laughter. A smile was on his face, but it was sad and small, and he wasn’t quite sure whether or not it was real. “This is good, yeah?”

 

“Of course it is, Armand.” Treville frowned. “Why?”

 

“It could be like this forever, if you want it to,” He said, and tried not to remember what would happen if they returned back to Paris.

 

“Armand---”  
  


“I know, your musketeers.” He said. “I would never ask you to give them up.”

 

“I wouldn’t have thought that would even cross your mind.” Treville frowned, his hands in his pockets.

 

“It hasn’t.” He said. “Not really.” He cleared his throat, “now, what’s the sixties without---What’s that.”

 

“What’s what?”

 

“That man, over there. He looks an awful lot like---”

 

 _“Aramis._ ” Treville growled.

 

The man looked up from where he was canoodling with some woman with flowers in her hair. His eyes were wider than saucers. “Captain! How strange to see you here---”

 

“How did you get here?” The Doctor said. “There is one way you could’ve gotten here, and I know for a fact I didn’t let you on my TARDIS.”

 

“Well, you see, about that,” Aramis swallowed.

 

~~~

 

“I cannot believe you four,” Treville growled. “You sneak after your commanding officer---”

 

“In our defense, Captain, you’ve obviously been kidnapped by some devillish sorcerer---”

 

“Not sorcery, science.” The Doctor said testily. “There is a difference.”

 

“Not now, Richelieu.” Treville waved him off. “You _follow_ your _commanding officer_ without my consent, you wander off in some strange land with hardly a plan---”

 

“We had a plan!” D’Artagnan protested.

 

“Not a good one!”

 

“It worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

 

“That’s not the point.” He frowned. “You’re lucky if I don’t put you all on suspension for months.”

 

“Captain---”

 

“But I’m not going to do that.” They were, after all, just thinking of his best interests. His boys, he thought fondly. Those idiots. “Instead I’m just going to haul you all back to Paris, and you have to explain to me what on god’s earth you’re wearing.”

 

“It’s hipster,” Athos defended. “I like it.”

~~~~~

 

Paris.

 

They shouldn’t be here. Treville shouldn’t---He shouldn’t be here. The Doctor might not be his Richelieu, but he owed him that much. He wouldn’t travel with him forever, but longer than this. Longer than the meagre years he spent in love with a spectre.  He owed him the happy memories stolen from him.

 

Treville was so easy to love. He shouldn’t. He’d loved far too many people and lost them all, but.

 

“You should see to Louis,” Treville mumbled. “You’ve finally piloted this thing correctly, for once. We’re exactly the next morning after we left.”

 

“Of course, my dear,” He forced on the foreign accent and strange speech patterns, and wondered, not for the first time, what would have happened if he hadn’t used the Chameleon Arch.

 

~~~

  
They went to Barcelona. It was sunny there; it was the planet, not the city, and Treville just sighed and shook his head when he saw the dogs without noses. “I honestly don’t think I want to know.” He said to the Doctor’s questioning look.

 

The doctor chuckled. He felt young, so young. The grass was blue, not red, and it didn’t feel like Gallifrey, but when Treville took his hand and ran--- He felt like it was, even so. He could spend an eternity like this, he thought.

 

They laid out on a field of blue grass. “Where would you like to go,” He murmured, and Treville pointed randomly in the sky.

 

“Take me here,” he said. And of course he complied.

 

~

 

Months went by, and, lying out in another field, in another time, he asked, “Where would you like to go?”

 

And Treville said, “Take me home.” He sighed. “Armand, take me home.”

 

And Armand should sound foreign to him, should sound wrong, like it always had before. But he found, suddenly, that he never liked an earth name more. If only--- If only---He doesn’t know what.

 

A clock breaks _. Time’s Up_ , Doctor.

 

~~~

Paris, again. Not a day had gone by since they last were there; Louis demanded his first minister attended to him. Treville, of course, was put on the guard.

 

The Doctor noticed what was happening far too late, when the deadbolt on the door made a clang, and they were effectively locked in. Treville went pale. No, he thought. Not yet. But the perpetrator of Rochefort was bound to come back eventually, bound to come find him. That’s what they did. That’s what she did. Because there was only one person who it could be.

 

A teleportation device. “Hello Doctor.”  She smirked. “Did you miss me?”

 

“Richelieu, why is there a witch in my court---” Louis stared in horror.

 

“Fret not, your majesty, I’ll deal with this.” He sighed, addressing her directly. “I thought  you were dead.”

 

“But you and I both know I have this silly habit of never staying dead,” she tsked.

 

“Yes, you do.” He frowned. “Missy.”

 

“The one and only.”

 

“You should have stayed dead.”

 

She pouted. “Oh, doctor, don’t be so mean.”

 

“You should’ve.”

 

She scanned the room, rolling her eyes. “Now, where’s the pretty little Clara this time? Or did she bore you?” She said. “Don’t look at me like that, Doctor, I know you have that cute little obsession with protecting people. Let me guess, someone’s going to shout, ‘save the king’ and I get heroically defeated?” She stepped towards Louis. “He doesn’t look very fearsome to me.”

 

“Step away from the King,” Treville threatened.

 

“Darling, you’d die before your sword hit my skin!” She laughed. “Oh, how I would like to see you try, though.”

 

“Missy,”  

 

“Oh---” Her eyes lightened in realization, “Oh! Well, you were always one for the rugged, military type, weren’t you, doctor?”

 

Treville made a sound akin to being choked.

 

“Just like that nasty Brit you hung around with when we were younger---What was his name? Lethbridge-Something.” She said. “Oh, doctor, this will be fun. I think I’ll enjoy killing him.”

 

“What’s your game, Master,” he said. “Renaissance France? What does that do for you?”

 

“Oh Doctor,” she said gleefully. “I’d really love to stay and chat, but you know what they say--- You’re all going to die, so I really ought to go.”

 

Silence.

 

“What, do people not say that?” She sighed. “Whatever. I’ll see you next regeneration, Doctor!” She stopped. “You really were so pretty this time. What a shame.” Then she disappeared.

 

“Richelieu---” Louis sounded desperate.

 

“Not now, your majesty,” He huffed. She wanted to kill them. She was going to kill them. How would she want to kill them? Why would she want to kill them? To watch him fall, of course. To watch him fail. To watch him---

 

To watch him burn. As if on cue, the golden light began to filter through the room. A bomb. A bomb that worked like an overheating nuclear reactor---a simple little device that for some races, was harmless. Timelords, of course, could handle certain amounts of radiation. Human’s couldn’t.

 

“Armand,”  

 

 _Treville_. No. Oh, no.

 

“That woman--- she seemed familiar.”

 

Time’s Up, Doctor. “That doesn’t matter now, Jean.” he smiled tightly, and he tried to remember him like this. “You were wonderful, you know that. The best companion I ever had.”

 

“Armand---”

 

The golden glow glew brighter. He felt as though he could feel every breath that was being taken, every word twittered in confusion. If he knew where the device was, he might be able to stop it. But there was no time. No time for anything. The light grew brighter.

 

He reached out for him. Treville’s hands were in his pockets again, but that didn’t deter him. They touched. It felt like electricity.

 

_Time’s Up._

 

“I feel like there’s something I need to do, Armand…”

 

The light grew bright, blinding.

 

 _Treville_ \---

 

~~~

 

Silence.

 

Then. “Doctor, you _idiot._ ”

  
What.

 

Treville stood beside him, whole and healthy and perfect. He thought he might cry. And then he saw the pocketwatch.

 

“You complete, utter idiot.” He huffed, and kissed him hard and rough, and he felt like Gallifrey, he felt like home---

 

“Master---”

  
“Just shut up, doctor.


End file.
